It was Miguel's singing that attracted your attention in the first place.

You had seen the crowd gathered and went to see what the commotion was all about. And there was Miguel, all golden hair and green eyes that – once they landed on you – bore down deep into your soul. You remember how he had paused once he saw you, and how he had smiled just a little when he picked up once again, strumming faster and dancing right up to you, never once looking away until he had finished the song.

You were captivated.

It was the first night that you ever dreamed about another man – and it scared you. Even though the church pronounced it as the sin of all sins, you couldn't bother to be worried.

So the next day you tracked him down, trailing him as he went from street to street – singing and dancing to a tune that you never knew could be pulled from a mandolin. As it turned out, it was something that only Miguel could do – make any instrument beneath his fingers come to life. He could pull songs from them that could lift any spirit.

It wasn't until you had spent every last bit of your vast amounts of (stolen and hoarded) money, that you were able to pull yourself away from Miguel.

You remember walking away as his songs echoed down the alley, shaking your head at yourself – you had never run out of money before.

And little did you know that soon you having no money would become a regular occurrence.

Once Miguel noticed that you were no longer following him, he sought you out – striking up a conversation about the weather that somehow led to you taking him home. After that first night, Miguel never left. He was just always there.

And sometimes, when the two of you were spent and sated, he would pick up the mandolin lying next to the bed and begin plucking at the strings, humming softly. You would fall asleep like that – your legs intertwined with his as he sang either soft lullabies or sweet little tales of love ever after.

End.

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